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Yesterday morning I woke up with a squint headache, sore teeth and a slight tear in my knuckle from clenching my fist in my sleep. I’d been having a demented nightmare about, of all things, Brokeback Mountain. I say "of all things" because I have no intention of going to see it, for a few different reasons—and yeah, I’m sure it’s good, so quality’s not one of them. But anyhow:
In the dream, I’d somehow managed to bypass all the hot cowpuncher love stuff and gone staright to an endless round of Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams fighting; him lying to her, her sort of taking it, then snapping and laying into him; him not understanding where her rage was coming from; etc. Right near the end, however—as though my subconscious had noticed the distinct lack of Jack Twist in this equation—this last scene suddenly turned into one of two guys arriving at Jake Gyllenhaal’s place to kill him painfully and make it look like a gay-bashing, apparently on the orders of HIS upset wife. They were pulling him backwards through a door and he was bracing himself desperately on the doorframe, until (with a horrible crack) both his arms broke, and he disappeared from view.
At which point I woke up in a cold sweat, cursing out my own brain for how it chooses to deal with stress…dude, I already said I don’t want to see the damn movie, okay? So why the hell are you giving me the Hostel remix version, free of charge?
In other news, Yesterday was my first day back at school, and it went okay. Cal remembers![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
agincourtgirl, which is good—she took him to the drop-in centre at the St. Lawrence Market (north), then to Mom’s. He also seems to be adapting to the concept of bedtime, now offering only minimal screaming and weeping so long as it’s introduced to him a stage at a time, rather than all at once. We dress him in pyjamas (Jamma jamma jamma jamma P! J!), play soothing music, read How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?. This, too, is good.
No workout last night, though; my stomach hurts, and Steve didn’t get done with his job until 10:30 PM. No writing either, which was annoying—have to try and rectify that tonight. My day today goes from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM, with only one break, and I’ve already promised I’ll spend that looking over somebody’s script, because I am an idiot.
Oh, and finally, it amuses me greatly that most people who’ve already guessed over atoz_magi have my contribution pegged as "a sure bet". It’s pretty funny to be that easily identifiable, at least within a very small circle.;)
In the dream, I’d somehow managed to bypass all the hot cowpuncher love stuff and gone staright to an endless round of Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams fighting; him lying to her, her sort of taking it, then snapping and laying into him; him not understanding where her rage was coming from; etc. Right near the end, however—as though my subconscious had noticed the distinct lack of Jack Twist in this equation—this last scene suddenly turned into one of two guys arriving at Jake Gyllenhaal’s place to kill him painfully and make it look like a gay-bashing, apparently on the orders of HIS upset wife. They were pulling him backwards through a door and he was bracing himself desperately on the doorframe, until (with a horrible crack) both his arms broke, and he disappeared from view.
At which point I woke up in a cold sweat, cursing out my own brain for how it chooses to deal with stress…dude, I already said I don’t want to see the damn movie, okay? So why the hell are you giving me the Hostel remix version, free of charge?
In other news, Yesterday was my first day back at school, and it went okay. Cal remembers
agincourtgirl, which is good—she took him to the drop-in centre at the St. Lawrence Market (north), then to Mom’s. He also seems to be adapting to the concept of bedtime, now offering only minimal screaming and weeping so long as it’s introduced to him a stage at a time, rather than all at once. We dress him in pyjamas (Jamma jamma jamma jamma P! J!), play soothing music, read How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?. This, too, is good.No workout last night, though; my stomach hurts, and Steve didn’t get done with his job until 10:30 PM. No writing either, which was annoying—have to try and rectify that tonight. My day today goes from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM, with only one break, and I’ve already promised I’ll spend that looking over somebody’s script, because I am an idiot.
Oh, and finally, it amuses me greatly that most people who’ve already guessed over at
oz_magi have my contribution pegged as "a sure bet". It’s pretty funny to be that easily identifiable, at least within a very small circle.;)
